


All Wrapped Up

by Thorntonsheart



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, blowjob, gift wrapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:51:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5394869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorntonsheart/pseuds/Thorntonsheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is back in Baker Street where he belongs but the Christmas present wrapping isn't going well! Of course, it's just another one of Sherlock's amazing gifts that he can wrap anything.  John challenges him to prove it.  Silliness ensues, chances are taken and the boys finally get everything they ever wanted for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Wrapped Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iwassoalone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwassoalone/gifts).



> This began as a story prompt for a very bored Iwassoalone, after a very silly discussion we decided we would both write the story! It would centre around wrapping presents, be approx. 5000 words and had to feature two phrases. 'Are you sure that's where it's supposed to go, John?' And 'This is impossible, Sherlock.' We both took very different routes with our stories, but had lots of fun doing it!
> 
> This is my version and I gift it to her with heartfelt thanks for her continued friendship, the silliness of our conversations and the kindness of her heart. Make sure to pop over and read hers too.
> 
> Finally, a huge thank you goes out to the the supremely talented and madly busy Lockedinjohnlock for the wonderful and speedy beta! My commas are coming along beautifully and semi-colons are warily testing the waters! In all seriousness, she makes me a better writer with her quick eye for punctuation errors and brilliant mind for word choices!

The amber-hued tint of firelight provides a flickering illumination to the living room of 221B. Sherlock, for once, is at rest, deeply absorbed at his desk, pen darting across the page of his Moleskine, making notes on goodness knows what. For all John knows he could be making detailed observations on the way that the dust motes are reflected in the dim glow of the fairy lights strung across the fireplace mirror.

From his position on the floor, John raises his chin and narrows his eyes, trying to spot those elusive dust motes, jealous of the attention they have theoretically gained from Sherlock. Rubbing a warm hand over the back of his neck John returns his attention to the task in hand; wrapping this year's Christmas presents. It's his first Christmas back in Baker Street, his first since the birth of his daughter, the first without said daughter; spirited away at birth from both parents for her own protection. John strokes his hand over the soft bear that currently lies on a sheet of wrapping paper before him. It's bigger than his daughter was the only time he had held her, but he has seen photos of her- all blonde ringlets and rosy cheeks - much bigger than the simple present he is allowed to send. Mycroft will ensure it reaches her. It will be hidden away amongst all the presents her 'parents' give her, the truth of its origin buried.

For months John and Sherlock had discussed the merits of finding her, bringing her back home, only to arrive at the same conclusion again and again; she was safest not knowing her heritage. Not knowing that her father was used time and time again as a (seemingly) helpless pawn to hurt Sherlock, the people involved never caring who else got hurt or killed in the process. Not knowing that her mother was/is an assassin, willing to heartlessly kill for the right price and not knowing that there are people out there willing to hurt or kill everyone that Mary holds most dear in retribution. Giving his child up had been a tough decision to make but it is ultimately one John knows to be correct. Mycroft had facilitated the final step for John, ensuring the safe removal of the baby girl, the ink barely dry on the relevant papers. He had ensured Mary's transfer to a high security prison for her role in Sherlock's attempted murder (John maliciously thinks 'murder', he's seen the notes, he knows Sherlock flatlined) and had ensured the relevant help was available to John for when he decided to move back into Baker Street. Both Sherlock and John had nursed their resentment towards Mycroft, plotting against him, until finally, in a drunken fit of misery, John had told Sherlock that he thought it was for the best that his daughter was away from them and Sherlock had hesitantly agreed. Afterwards, Sherlock had approached Mycroft privately and a week later John had held fuzzy photographs of his then six month old daughter sitting proudly upright on an area of lawn, no distinguishing landmarks around her. She looked happy and healthy, and although his heart ached in his chest he knew that his little girl was going to have a much safer life than he was able to provide.

Shaking his head in an effort to clear the maudlin thoughts away, John once again focuses on the task in front of him. Carefully, he wraps the sheet of thick paper over the bear but as he reaches for the Sellotape the paper slips. He mutters and readjusts his position, moving the sticky tape within easy reach. Again he wraps the paper over the bear and again it slips from between his fingers. Breathing deeply and muttering curses, he tries once again, this time leaning the weight of the scissors against the paper to hold it in place as he grabs the tape. Victorious, he grins. The grin quickly turns sour when he scrabbles his nails round the roll of tape, futilely trying to find the end. He mumbles a string of expletives that would make a sailor's hair curl before finally flicking the roll away from him in a brief fit of temper. Both he and Sherlock watch as it bounces and then rolls across the room, coming to halt beneath their sofa.

"Are you sure that's where it's supposed to go, John?" Sherlock quirks an eyebrow, a small smile briefly lights his face before being quickly smothered at the sight of a thoroughly dejected John.

John pinches at the bridge of his nose, willing the tears of frustration and the keen loss of his daughter away.

"This is impossible Sherlock." He gestures towards the bear sitting forlornly in its sheet of wrapping paper, the scissors having slipped and the wrapping once more lying flat on the floor. The words are muttered and Sherlock knows that John is not talking about wrapping gifts. John is feeling lost and confused, and now frustrated. Sherlock knows he needs to distract him quickly.

"Really, John, there is nothing complicated in wrapping gifts." He walks gracefully across the living room before dropping to his knees in front of the sofa. One quick sweep underneath produces the roll of Sellotape, amazingly fluff-free. He shuffles on his knees over to where John sits, heedless of the damage he is doing to the knees of his expensive trousers. "It's just a matter of visualising the angles and making the appropriate folds. Nothing could be simpler." He holds the tape out to John, already knowing how the scene will play out.

"If it's so bloody simple, you do it!" John stretches out on his side, propping his head up on the heel of his hand, the elbow taking its weight. He is grinning now, the idea of the great Sherlock Holmes wrestling with paper, Sellotape and Christmas ribbon highly amusing to him.

"If you insist, John." Sherlock stifles his own smile and reaches out for the teddy. It's a dark chocolate brown, almost velvety to the touch and he knows beyond a doubt that John's daughter will love it. He places it tenderly on the paper and begins to wrap, his hands moving deftly. "We lift this side like so, then bring it to this side, fasten with the tape. Turn the parcel. Fold here, here and here. Fasten again. And now we do the same to the other side. And there we go, simplicity itself!” Sherlock glances up at John from under his eyelashes and is happy to see John staring at the present agape.

"Where did you learn that? And don't say for a case, I'm sure I would have known about it before now, if it were." John is turning the perfectly wrapped present over and over in his compact hands, admiring the beauty of the wrapping.

"Do you have any ribbon?" Sherlock ignores John's question, standing to collect the stapler from his desk before returning to accept the ribbon from John.

"Sherlock." And there it is; the tone that brooks no refusal. Sherlock grins, not that he was going to refuse anyway; his plan to distract John is working beautifully.

He accepts the red shiny ribbon from a (semi) patiently waiting John. John's gaze is fixed on Sherlock's long fingers as they caress the ribbon; the sight of a flash of tongue causes Sherlock's breath to hitch and his movements to falter slightly. Getting a firmer grip, he winds the ribbon back and forth on itself, holding it firmly in the middle.

"Stapler." John passes the stapler into Sherlock's outstretched hand.

He staples the wound ribbon securely in the centre, before snipping it away from the body of the remaining spool. He places it carefully on the floor before replicating the movements on another length of ribbon.

"I worked as a Christmas elf in a department store one year. I worked in the wrapping department; it required the least amount of interaction with people." Sherlock keeps his eyes fixed on the new pattern of ribbon, trying to ignore the flush that he can feel creeping up his neck. "Shut up, John. I was 15."

John collapses on the floor as laughter overtakes him, only the occasional gasps of 'tights' and 'bells' apparent. By the time John's giggles have slowed and he has wiped the tears from his eyes, Sherlock has four sections of twirled ribbon in front of him.

"What are those for?" John's voice still has an edge of laughter to it and Sherlock is silently pleased that it was he who was able to reduce John to tears of joy.

"Aha, watch and learn, John." Sherlock returns to his desk, roots around in the drawers for a moment before pulling out a roll of double sided adhesive tape. He walks back to John, twiddling the roll in his hand before throwing it up and catching it. Settling back on the floor, closer to John this time, he proceeds to stick the assorted ribbon parts together, tweaking at its folds with dexterous fingers; before John's eyes an intricate blossom of ribbon blooms.

"Brilliant." Sherlock flushes at John's simple word of praise; it feels so long since he has heard anything like that from John. He carefully affixes the blossom onto the present and they both lean back to admire the finished article. "It's beautiful."

Long moments pass as both men allow their thoughts to drift to the baby who will be too young to appreciate the love and care that went into the choosing and wrapping of her anonymous gift. With a deep breath John sweeps the threatening melancholy away.

"So, what else can you wrap?" John is reclined on his elbows, head tilted to one side, his gaze fixed on Sherlock.

Sherlock relaxes into a similar pose to John, turning his head to meet John's eyes. He shrugs, the whole of his upper body moving. "Anything. Everything. Whatever I'm given." There is no hollow bragging in Sherlock's words but John is suddenly eager to find out what Sherlock's limitations are, if he does indeed have any.

"Ok, could you wrap......." John's gaze travels around the room. "A human skull?"

"Why on earth would I need to wrap a skull, John?" The furrow at the bridge of Sherlock's nose is deep as he ponders John's strange challenge.

"Just pretend there's someone else out there who has the same unusual decorative taste as you."

"That's highly unlikely, but for the sake of your ridiculous question, yes, I could easily wrap a skull." Sherlock turns a smug grin in John's direction.

"Prove it."

"What? Why?" The furrow grows deeper.

"To show me that you can, to pass the time, to show me how brilliant you are. Whatever reason, just prove it."

"Tedious." The word is muttered but Sherlock heaves himself up from his position on the floor and reaches the skull on the mantelpiece in a long stride. He picks it up in one large hand with ease, long fingers gripping over the cranium. Returning to John's side Sherlock carefully places the skull on the floor, reaching for the wrapping paper. "If you persist in this juvenile charade John, you'll soon have no wrapping paper left."

John's eyes sparkle with glee and he smiles, large and genuine. "That's fine by me, I can always buy more." He remains sprawled on the floor as he watches Sherlock efficiently wrap the skull, all clean creases and smooth folds.

"Do the dog statue now." John commands.

Within minutes the dog statue is wrapped and placed back on the mantelpiece next to the festively wrapped skull. Sherlock leans against the mantelpiece awaiting John's next demand. He's actually enjoying himself working with his hands and his brain; it's almost like doing one of his experiments but this experiment doesn't really make much mess and has the added benefit of making John happy, something Sherlock takes great joy in.

Thirty minutes pass and there is a steadily growing pile of wrapped objects on the carpet, they range from paper clips to the DVD player, from dinner plates to a raw egg ('really John, this is just getting ridiculous now'). Both men are laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation and leaning heavily against each other.

"It's lucky we don't have a cat!" John's high pitched giggles rock through his body and Sherlock savours the sensation of having John so close and happy. The warmth of John's body where it casually rests against Sherlock reminds him of the embrace on John's wedding day and Sherlock curses himself again for freezing and not returning the embrace whilst he'd had the chance. If he had the opportunity now (with no bloody bride in the way) he would grasp it with both hands, quite literally. Shifting his weight slightly, Sherlock leans more fully into John and lightly rests his head atop John's; braced to move away quickly if John protests. To his delight John does not shift away, instead he moves his hand until it is resting over Sherlock's on the floor between them.

"I could wrap a cat." Sherlock muses, his mind more focused on the sensation of John's thumb gently stroking over the skin of his hand.

"Sherlock! It's a living creature! It would wriggle, hiss and scratch, shred any paper to bits. Not to mention it would be cruel to the poor animal." Sherlock can feel the effort John is putting into restraining his giggles and he gives into the urge to kiss the top of John's head. It is only a light kiss, barely a brush of lips over John's hair, but the action causes both men's breath to hitch and John to clutch more firmly at Sherlock's hand. Eager not to lose the closeness and light heartedness of the moment Sherlock decides to take a calculated risk.

"I could have done it, there's a particular place to stroke a cat that relaxes them. But as we don't have a cat I will simply have to prove my skill by wrapping something else that is living."

John stretches away from Sherlock but does not release his hold, he points at Sherlock with his free hand. " You are _not_  wrapping Mrs Hudson up!"

"Not Mrs Hudson, no." He gives John his best 'mad scientist' smile, knowing that it will bring an answering grin to John's face. "I was rather thinking I could wrap you up."

As predicted, John smiles. "Me? You're bloody mad! But, I'm obviously madder." He rubs his face with his free hand, grinning through his fingers. "Yeah, all right then. Where do you want me?"

Sherlock takes a moment to absorb this information, blinking rapidly, his brain flooded with images of John spread out on the floor, on his bed, over a table, fully clothed, partially clothed, completely naked. He closes his eyes briefly to try and block out the source of the stimuli. It works well enough that he is able to slow his erratic breathing and give John an answer in a controlled voice.

"I'll roll out three separate sheets of paper, side by side, and then you can lie on them, flat on your back would probably be the most suitable; arms wherever you feel most comfortable."

Sherlock can feel John's eyes on him as he crawls over the floor, clearing more space before rolling out the paper. He is ridiculously pleased that he doesn't have his jacket on; he has observed people eyeing his backside before and is aware that it is considered to be an attractive part of him. It seems that John may feel the same way about it too. The thought brings a half smile to his lips and a flush to his cheeks. He stills the small shake of his hands and crawls back towards John, heart pounding when he sees an answering flush on John's cheeks. Gathering his courage, Sherlock moves until he is leaning right into John's space, pausing when the tip of his nose is almost brushing against the tip of John's. He can feel the warmth of John's breath as it gusts over his face and he savours it, allowing his eyes to drift closed and his lips to part. He senses it when John moves in closer, the breath hotter against his face, his lips tingling at John's proximity. He tilts his head slightly, wordlessly pleading for John to be the brave one, to cross the seemingly infinite distance between them and finally kiss him.

John does not disappoint.

The brush of John's lips is tentative, almost shy, but in no way hesitant. It is a simple kiss, but the emotions that it awakens threaten to bring Sherlock to his figurative knees. The kiss breaks and he remains still for a moment, savouring the sensation, before slowly opening his eyes, his lips still slightly open. John is leaning in close, a slight flush staining his handsome face, his dark blue eyes searching Sherlock's face for clues as to how he feels about this, their first kiss.

"John....I..." Sherlock has no clue what he is going to say and instead pushes back into another kiss. Their lips meet more firmly this time and he sighs when he feels the touch of a strong hand at his waist, pulling him in closer. Adjusting the way he is positioned, Sherlock slides nearer to John before wrapping a hand around the back of John's neck, thumb caressing through the short hairs at John's nape, cataloguing the texture even as he relishes the sensation of John's lips opening under his. A small gasp escapes him, given sound by the barest hint of voice and he trembles when he feels John's answering moan, briefly tightening his grip on John's nape before sliding his hand up and into John's hair. His free hand, he slides up John's chest, groaning again when John twitches at the drift of Sherlock's fingers over his sensitive nipple, stopping only when he is cupping the side of John's face. He pulls away slightly, can see the effect he is having on John in the way his eyes are a band of navy blue around dilating pupils, the way his cheeks are a dusky pink, the way his lips appear fuller and moist from their encounter. Lovingly, he runs his thumb over John's lower lip, watching the way John's eyes almost flutter shut at the sensation. He leans forward and dips his tongue between John's parted lips. John's tongue meets his and Sherlock once again runs his thumb over John's lip, delighting in the way that it gets caressed by John's tongue alongside his own. He has never been an overly sexual being but he has always revelled in the sensual; the soft embrace of smooth, cool material encasing his skin, the slightly bristly brush of wool against his neck, the sound of classical music as it cocoons him in its notes, the smell of the earth after the rain, and, since John entered his life, the way that John walks, talks, laughs, smells and now, finally, he can add tastes to his list. And it is this taste that is awakening the last part of Sherlock's sexual being, the side he has kept firmly under lock and key even when he had already lost the battle against sentimentality. The kiss deepens and he moves his hand back down John's body to rest on his hip, running his fingers along where John's shirt meets his trousers, wanting to untuck it and feel the silky skin hidden beneath. Eventually it is John who breaks the kiss. He laments the loss of John's lips against his own momentarily before John begins to kiss his way along his jawline, nipping every now and then. Sherlock twists his fingers into John's shirt, fighting the temptation just to tear at the material. He tilts his head back, allowing John to trail kisses over the tender skin. It takes him a moment to fight through the haze of bliss to realise that John is mumbling into his neck, the words interspersed by kisses.

"Sherlock....." Lips move down Sherlock's neck, stopping only when they are impeded by his shirt collar. "I don't want you to wrap me up." Open mouthed kisses explore the area of his suprasternal notch, John's tongue just dipping into the hollow there. Both of Sherlock's hands are now at John's waist, gripping fervently onto the thin shirt material. "I want you to unwrap me." John nibbles at the swell of Sherlock's Adam's apple and Sherlock whines at the sensation. "Undress me, please. Undress me."

John's words are cut short when Sherlock mashes his lips against John's, all finesse momentarily forgotten as the import of John's words sink in. His kiss is eagerly met by John who pulls Sherlock against him, using the force of the kiss to lay them flat on the floor. Fighting to keep his hips away from John, not wanting to overwhelm him with his burgeoning erection, Sherlock leans his upper body over John's. Two strong, compact hands grab at his waist and pull him over and down, aligning their hips, wrenching a guttural moan from Sherlock, one that is eagerly matched by John. Sherlock's body is completely flush against John's beneath him, he can feel the way that John's chest heaves beneath his own, the way that the muscles in his stomach are tensing against his, the way that John's penis is hardening against his own. Sherlock is light-headed with desire, his body and brain in combat. His body just wants to grind and thrust and take; his brain wants to observe, catalogue and delight in. John's hands are pulling at his shirt, untucking it from his trousers and Sherlock can feel the touch of cooler air against the small of his back. Clever fingers dip beneath the waistline of the material, stroking at his damp skin. He slows the kiss, consciously trying to slow the frantic rush of the situation, before sliding to the side, pulling John with him.

With the minimum of wriggling they are both able to reach the other's clothing; long, dexterous digits and short, able fingers popping buttons through snug buttonholes, their actions interspersed with trembling kisses and huffs of laughter when their arms bump. Finally shirts are slid off, bare skin revealed and Sherlock takes a deep breath at the beauty of the man before him. Hidden strength lies beneath a soft layer of skin, skin that is dappled golden in the light of the fire and silky smooth beneath Sherlock's questing hands. He runs reverent fingers over John's gunshot wound before trailing them over John's chest, lingering over dark brown peaked nipples before making his way to the fastenings of John's jeans. He tucks his face into the relative sanctuary of John's neck, his breath coming in moist puffs against sensitive skin, causing John to tremble and gasp as Sherlock undoes John's jeans. Sherlock pauses and breathes deep before sliding both John's jeans and underwear down past the curve of John's backside until they are resting beneath the swell of his buttocks. John is now completely exposed to Sherlock's intense observation and Sherlock can see the colour rising on John's cheeks and leaving blotches over his chest. He ducks his head and dances kisses over John's torso, lingering over his nipples, sucking and nipping against the small nubs as John gasps beneath him. Each gasp, each tug at his hair or scratch of blunt fingernails against his skin spurs Sherlock on further. He licks at John's hot skin, relishing the taste of him on his tongue, the scent of him in his nostrils. Sherlock kisses over the soft rise of John's stomach, dipping his tongue into John's belly button, laughing briefly when he feels John huff out a giggle at the sensation. As he slides further down, Sherlock pushes John's jeans and underwear completely off his legs, leaving John utterly naked beneath him. John is panting, body flushed and shimmering with a fine layer of sweat; his cock stands proud and hard, the head glistening. Sherlock salivates, eager to taste.

"You too." John's voice is cracked and dry from his panting but the demand is clear. Sherlock quickly undoes his trousers, wriggling out of both trousers and boxers quickly and efficiently. The cool air on his heated skin is wonderful and he groans at the release of pressure on his erection. He had been so lost in his exploration of John's body he had paid no heed to his own. Under John's penetrating gaze he is aware of his faults, too skinny, too scarred, too eager.

"Christ....." John breathes. "Jesus Christ....." He licks his lips, opens his mouth to speak, closes it again before opening it once more and finally speaking. "I knew you'd be beautiful Sherlock, but never in my wildest dreams did I think you'd be _this_ beautiful." He strokes a worshipful hand over Sherlock's chest. "You're perfect. Utterly perfect." Sherlock allows himself to be pulled down against John and revels in the kiss, naked skin caressing naked skin, their cocks sliding against each other with each impulsive rock of their hips. As the kiss deepens the pace of the grinding quickens and Sherlock pulls away. He stills any protest of John's by quickly sliding down his body.

"I need to taste you." Even to his own ears Sherlock's voice sounds wrecked. His heart is hammering in his chest as he takes John in hand, swiping his thumb through the gathering precome. He lowers his face to John's cock, halts mere millimetres away and inhales deeply. The smell is musky and uniquely John, he can feel his own cock pulse against John's lower leg and gives in to the temptation to grind very slightly against the soft hair and strong muscles he can feel there. Sherlock licks at the tip of his thumb, cleaning it of the pre-come. The taste blooms over his tongue and he closes his eyes in bliss, he needs more of that taste, more of John. Opening his eyes he fixes his gaze on John's face. John has propped himself up on his elbows and is watching Sherlock's explorations, wide eyed and gasping. Slowly, Sherlock runs his tongue along the underside of John's cock, base to tip; he can see John's eyes flutter briefly closed as he tastes more deeply of him. Eyes still fixed on John, Sherlock slides his mouth over the head of John's cock, groaning as his senses are overwhelmed by the taste, smell and texture. Sherlock slides his free hand down to his own cock, needing to release some of the tension. He rocks up into his loose fist, groaning before sucking John further into his mouth. It becomes a feedback loop; with each suck and squeeze of John's cock, Sherlock fucks into his own fist and the need to have more of John increases. John's moans echo around the flat, intermingled with Sherlock's and he scrabbles at Sherlock's back and hair, arching into the sensation of Sherlock's talented mouth pulling pleasure after pleasure from him.

"N...n..need you up here." John gasps, pulling Sherlock up by his hair. Sherlock crawls up John's body, licking and nipping as he goes; his trembling is matching John's, their desire for each other mutual. He slots their bodies together, grinding his penis down on to John's, his breath catching when John digs his fingernails in to his back, encouraging him to grind harder, faster. Sherlock takes them both in his hand, grateful at last for his large hands. His saliva and their precome acts as lubricant as they thrust against each other, as always, perfectly in sync. Sherlock arches his upper body slightly so he can kiss John, the kisses are sloppy, lacking in finesse but erotic in the extreme. He breaks the kiss only to speak the words he needs to speak, words that have been locked away for far too long.

"I love you, John."

The words are gasped out, broken from the intensity of the moment but heartfelt and true. John tenses under Sherlock and grows harder in Sherlock's hand before ejaculating between them. He pulses three times before grabbing at Sherlock's arse, encouraging him to thrust against him. Sherlock slides into the slick warmness pooling on John's stomach and closes his eyes, chasing his own release. He can feel John's breath against his neck, feel John's strong legs entangled with his own, the moment that he feels the gentle nip of John's teeth against his shoulder he comes, ejaculate spurting between them.

Sherlock is light-headed and blissed-out when he lays himself carefully back on John. For long minutes they lie there, a tangled heap of sweaty limbs and panting breath. Sherlock shifts his weight when he feels John start to wriggle, but keeps a leg and an arm possessively over him.

"Jesus, Sherlock." John turns to look at Sherlock before smoothing Sherlock's damp curls away from his forehead. "That was fucking amazing."

Sherlock blinks in acknowledgment, a shy smile pulling at his lips. Ridiculously, he feels self conscious: perhaps John had only wanted sex and his confession was unwelcome? He frets, chewing at his lip.

"Come here, you idiot." John pulls Sherlock in more firmly, and continues to run his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "I love you, too. You and me against the rest of the world, yeah?"

Sherlock manoeuvres himself until his head rests on John's chest, the room is warm enough that they do not feel the need to cover up and Sherlock can hear John's breath becoming more even as he relaxes. The reassuring thud of John's heartbeat is the last thing Sherlock hears before he drifts into a deep and restful sleep, a content smile playing over his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please, please feel free to leave comments. I do answer all of them! Of course kudos and bookmarks are scrumptious too!
> 
> If you like my stuff please read my other work and subscribe to me as writer, I'm not as prolific as some, but I do intend to keep writing!
> 
> I am on tumblr and Twitter as Thorntonsheart, feel free to pop by and say hi!


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